While he was sound asleep, Summer went quietly into the kitchen.
There were a ton of ingredients in the refrigerator, and they were very fresh, more than enough for making breakfast.
She made some bacon, egg, and cheese sandwiches.
When she finished preparing it, Mark had also woken up and gone into the bathroom. His arm was injured and he would probably find it inconvenient to do certain tasks.
Out of concern, she followed him. He had washed his face and was now shaving his beard.
He did it so awkwardly, with just one hand. "Let me give you a hand," she said.
Mark raised an eyebrow and handed the razor to her, then raised his chin and drew his face closer to her.
It was the first time for Summer to do this kind of chore. Her hand did not seem to listen to her instruction, as it was trembling. She could not help it; i t was a razor, not something else that she was holding.
He bent down slightly so that his eyes were level with hers. They had eye to eye.
Those deep, penetrating eyes seemed to contaminate her, gazing at her as if they were to swallow her in her entirety.
Who could have kept their minds and hearts calm under such a gaze?
Her cheeks were blushed, and she evaded his eyes. But her spiking heart rate still affected her. Her hand slipped, and beads of blood popped up on his face.
Shocked, Summer hurriedly searched for tissue paper.
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